The Raging Fires

by T.A. Barron

  At the instant the arrows nocked into the bowstrings, the doe suddenly turned in my direction. Whether she saw me or not through the brambles, I could not tell. Yet the sight of her wide, intelligent, brown eyes—stricken with terror—hit home.

  “Stop!” I shouted, leaping into the air.

  Startled, the dwarves jumped. Both of their arrows went wide, skidding off the rock-flaked walls of the gully. At the same instant, the doe and the stag bolted across the turf before the dwarves could reach for their quivers again. In a single, magnificent leap, their forelegs tucked tight against their chests, the deer sailed over their attackers’ heads and bounded out of range.

  “What fool are you?” demanded one of the dwarves, pointing his reloaded bow straight at my chest.

  “I come in peace.” Emerging from the tangle of gorse, I lifted my staff into the smoky air. “I am Merlin, called to join you by Urnalda herself.”

  “Pshaw!” The dwarf scowled at me. “Did she also command you to ruin our hunt?”

  I hesitated. “No. But I couldn’t do otherwise.”

  “Couldn’t what?” The other dwarf stomped angrily, threw his bow to the ground, and pulled out his axe. “You miserable, long-legged oaf! Methinks we should bring back man meat instead of deer.”

  “A fine idea,” snapped the first. “These days meat of any kind is hard to come by. You won’t taste nearly as good as venison—the first we’ve found in many days, mind you—but you’ll do. Did Urnalda never tell you that your race is forbidden to enter these lands?”

  “Go ahead,” urged his companion. “Shoot him now. Before he tries one of his man tricks on us.”

  “Wait,” I protested, my mind racing to find some way to escape.

  “You say these lands are forbidden, yet I have been here before.” Although my knees were wobbling, I stood my tallest on the charred soil. “And I have come back to help your people, even as you helped me.”

  “Pshaw!” He drew back his bow. The arrow point glinted darkly. “Now I know you’re a liar as well as a thief. Our laws tell us to kill human trespassers, not help them! Not even Urnalda, whose memory is as short as her plump little legs, would forget that.”

  “Be that so?” demanded a sharp voice from the shadows.

  Like myself, both dwarves whirled to face a squat figure standing beside one of the boulders. Urnalda. She wore a hooded cloak over her black robe that glittered with an embroidery of runes. Her ragged red hair, surging out of the hood, held many jeweled clasps, ornaments, and pins. She wore earrings of conch shells, each almost as large as her bulbous nose. One of her thickset hands curled around her staff, while the other hand pointed at the dwarf holding the bow. Her eyes, as bright as the flames that had consumed my own psaltery, burned with rage.

  “Urnal-nalda,” fumbled the first dwarf, lowering his bow. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  “No?” The enchantress eyed him for a long moment. “An insult be an insult even if the person it maligns be out of hearing.”

  “B-b-but you are mis-mistaken.”

  “Be I?” Urnalda stepped fully out of the shadows. “Far worse than your insult to me, huntsman, be your threat to our friend here.” She nodded toward me, swaying her shell earrings. “You be about to skewer him before I arrived.”

  My own chest relaxed, even as the dwarf panted in fright. Nervously, he pawed his beard. “But he—”

  “Silence! He may be a man, but he still be a friend. Oh, yes! A valued friend. And more than that, he be our only hope.” She glared at him. “You seem to be forgetful of my command to keep him safe after he came to our realm. Be that so?”

  “Y-yes, Urnalda. I forgot.”

  A flash of light burst from Urnalda’s hand. At the same instant the dwarf yelped in surprise. He stood in his same leggings, though they fell like loose sacks around his boots. I thought his pants had fallen—then realized the truth.

  “My legs!” he wailed. “You shortened them!” He tried standing on his toes, though he still only reached his companion’s elbow. “They’re only half as long as they were.”

  “Yes,” agreed the enchantress. “So now your memory be no longer than your legs.”

  He dropped to his knees, now only a little higher than the tops of his boots. “Please, Urnalda. Please give me back my old legs.”

  “Not until you give Urnalda back her faith in your loyalty.” Her eyes flicked toward the other dwarf, who stood shivering. “I would do the same to you, but I be short of huntsmen just now.”

  Slowly, Urnalda turned to me. Her face, though still wrathful, seemed a touch softer. “I be sorry your return be so unpleasant.”

  I bowed respectfully. Then, with a grateful sigh, I leaned against my staff. “I am glad you arrived when you did. Very glad.”

  The conch shells swayed as Urnalda bowed her head slightly. “Your timing be just as good as my own, Merlin. You see, this be the night that Valdearg will come back here.”

  Stiffening, I glanced at the sky, darkened both by twilight and the hovering streaks of smoke. Gradually, my puzzlement overcame my fear, and I asked, “You know he will come back tonight?”

  “That be true.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  Her cheeks pinched. “Because, my young friend, I made a pact with him. Oh yes! A dragon be a most intelligent beast, aware of what he really wants. And in this case, I be sorry to say, what the dragon really wants . . . be you.”

  11: THE PACT

  Before I could begin to move, Urnalda waved her hand. A flash of scarlet seared my mind. I flew backward from the impact, landing with a thud on the charred turf. For an instant I felt my heart had been ripped away, and my lungs crushed completely. The pain in my chest! The shadowy sky, tinged with scarlet, careened above me.

  Haltingly, I took a breath of smoky air. My throat stung. I forced myself to sit up. There—the swirling face of the enchantress, smirking confidently. So dizzy . . . Not far away, my unsheathed sword lay on the ground. Much farther away, my staff. I could barely keep the images distinct; everything blurred together. Hadn’t I felt this way before? Recently? I vaguely recalled . . . but when? I couldn’t quite remember.

  My sword, I told myself. If I can just get it back, I can protect myself.

  Stretching out a trembling hand, I tried my hardest to halt the spinning, to concentrate my thoughts. Come to me, sword. Leap to me.

  Nothing happened.

  Although I could hear Urnalda sniggering in the background, I did not let my thoughts veer from the sword. Leap to me, I say. Leap!

  Still nothing.

  Once again I tried. Gathering all of my power, I poured every drop of it into the sword. Leap!

  Still nothing.

  “Sorry to say, Merlin, you be a little lighter now.” Grinning broadly, the enchantress stepped over to the sword and snatched it. “I be taking something that once be yours.”

  “My sword.” I tried to rise, but fell back weakly. “Give it back to me!”

  Urnalda’s eyes flamed. “No, it not be your sword I mean.” Bending toward me, she spoke in a chilling whisper. “I be taking not your sword, but your powers.”

  Suddenly I remembered when I had felt this way before. With the kreelix! My stomach twisted in knots; my mind whirled. Gasping for breath, I forced myself to stand. Though I felt as wobbly as a newborn colt, I faced her.

  “Urnalda. You can’t! I am your friend, aren’t I? You said so yourself! How can you do this?”

  “Easily,” she answered. “A bit of negatus mysterium be all it takes.”

  My legs buckled, and I fell back to the sooty ground. “Why, though? I could help you! I’m the only one who can defeat Valdearg. That’s the prophecy of The Dragon’s Eye.”

  “Bah!” scoffed the enchantress. “Such prophecies be worthless. What matters be my pact with Valdearg himself.” Her stubby fingers played with one of her earrings as she studied me darkly. “You see, the dragon awoke from his spell of sleep because someone destroyed the m
ost precious part of his waking life, the one thing he treasured over everything else.”

  I shook my spinning head. “What was that?”

  “I think you be pretending, Merlin. I think you already know.”

  “I don’t! Believe me.”

  “All right, then. I shall humor you. Valdearg awoke because someone—someone most clever—found the secret hiding place of his eggs. His only offspring! Then that bloodthirsty someone killed his young ones. Every last one of them. That be a most dangerous thing to do.”

  Angrily, she slashed at the air with my sword. “Since the dragon eggs be hidden near the land of the dwarves, Valdearg blamed this deed on my people. The innocent, upright people of Urnalda! So he flies down here, burns my lands, pounds the ground with his tail to make my tunnels collapse, roasts alive dozens of my huntsmen.” Her slashing grew more violent. “Ruin! Devastation! Until finally—yes, finally—I convinced him that the killer be not a dwarf after all.”

  I started to speak, but her torrent of words overwhelmed me.

  “Urnalda, so clever, so wise, examined what be left of the eggs most carefully. And I found proof that the killer be not a dwarf, but a man. A poison-hearted man! It be no easy task to convince Valdearg himself to look close enough to see the proof, since even flying high above the remains fills him with rage. Uncontrollable rage.” She jabbed at the air with a vengeance. “Even so, I persisted—and finally succeeded. When Valdearg realized the killer be a man, he decided that only his old foe Tuatha—or a descendant if Tuatha no longer be alive—would be capable of doing such a terrible thing.”

  My cheeks burned. “Where did he get such an idea?”

  “That be simple.” Her taut lips scowled at me. “It be true.”

  “But it’s not!” I started to stand, but she slashed at me with the blade until I sat down again.

  “So I, Urnalda, made a pact with Wings of Fire. Indeed I did! We agreed that if I could deliver you to him, he would leave my people in peace. Forever. But dragons be not patient. He refused to wait very long.”

  She stabbed at the ashen earth. “We agreed to meet tonight. If I did not yet have you as my prisoner, he promised me just one more week—seven days, no more. If, on the night of the seventh day, I could not produce you—then he vowed to annihilate every last one of my people. And anyone else in his path until he found you.”

  “But I never killed his young! How could I? For months, I haven’t done anything but work on my instrument.”

  “Bah! You could be slipping away quite easily, with no one ever knowing.”

  “It’s not true.”

  She looked at me skeptically, her eyes glowing like a dragon’s flame. “In many ways, it be a bold and visionary act. Rid this land of dragons! Destroy their despicable race altogether!” She twisted the sword into the ground beside me. “Yet you should be knowing that it bring harm to the dwarves. The people of Urnalda.”

  “I didn’t do it, I tell you!”

  Raising the weapon, she swung it over my head, barely missing me. “It be in your blood to kill! Do you deny it? You relish the feeling of power, of strength. You know my words be true, Merlin! Look what Tuatha’s only son—your father, Stangmar—did to the dwarves and the rest of Fincayra! He poisoned our lands. He murdered our children. How can you tell me that you, his own son, be any different?”

  “But I am!” I pushed myself into a crouch. My second sight, no longer spinning, focused on Urnalda’s flashing eyes. “I am the one who finally defeated him! Haven’t you heard that? Ask Dagda himself if you doubt me.”

  The enchantress grunted. “That means nothing. Only that you be still more ruthless than your father.” She pricked the edge of my sword with her fingernail. “Answer me truly. Do you deny that you would be glad to see Fincayra rid of dragons forever?”

  “N-no,” I admitted. “I can’t deny that. But—”

  “Then how can I believe you be not the killer?” She thrust the sword at my neck, holding the tip just a finger’s width away. Her lips curled in a snarling grin. “Now, however, you must understand. Whether or not you really did it be unimportant. Yes, irrelevant.”

  “Irrelevant?” I slammed my fist on the charred soil, sending up a cloud of ash. “It’s my life you’re talking about.”

  “And the life of my people, which be much more important.” She nodded, clinking the conch shells dangling from her ears. “What counts be that the dragon believes that you be the man who killed his young. Whether or not you really be him—that be meaningless. All he needs be a few bites of man flesh to ease his appetite for revenge.” She leaned closer, pressing her bulbous nose against mine. “You be the man.”

  In desperation, I started crawling toward my staff. Urnalda, though, moved too quickly. Waving her hand in the direction of the staff, she caused it to rise off the ground and twirl in the smoky air. The two dwarves looking on gasped in amazement.

  “Now,” she snapped, “do you doubt that I stripped you of your powers? Do you think to use your wizard’s staff against me?” Before I could answer, she spat out a strange incantation. With a sizzling flash of scarlet light, my staff completely disappeared.

  My chest ached with emptiness. My powers. Gone! My staff, my precious staff. Gone!

  Urnalda examined me severely. “Undeserving as you be, I still be merciful. Oh yes! I be leaving you with your second sight so that you will give the dragon the satisfaction of believing you can defend yourself—at least for a minute or two. That way, after he slays you, he be more likely to keep his bargain. For the same reason, I give this back to you.”

  She hurled my sword high into the air, at the same time barking a command. It fell back toward me, before suddenly swerving in midair and sliding straight into the scabbard at my waist. “Be warned, though,” she growled. “If you be thinking about trying that blade against me, I be using it to cut your legs as short as my huntsman’s over there.”

  The recently shortened dwarf, clasping his baggy leggings, released a whimper.

  Urnalda drew in her breath. “Now be the time. Up, I command you!” She pointed with her staff toward a rocky, pyramid-shaped rise across the plateau. “March to that hill. The dragon be arriving there soon.”

  Weakly, I struggled to my feet. My mind reeled, even as my body ached. I had feared—even expected—that I would lose my life in the end to Valdearg. But not like this. No, not at all like this.

  And although some of my strength had returned, I felt more than ever that emptiness in the middle of my chest. As if my very center had been torn away. My future as a mage was already clouded—bad enough. But now whatever powers I possessed, those gifts of magic I barely even understood, had vanished. And with them, something more. Something very close to my soul.

  12: TO CIRCLE A STORY

  Just then one of the huntsmen cried out. All of us turned to see a large doe bounding across the darkened plateau. With grace and speed, she sprinted over the rolling plain like a flying shadow. I could not tell whether it was the same wide-eyed doe from the gully. I could only hope that her legs would soon carry her far away from this land of ruthless hunters—and traitorous allies.

  “Mmmm, venison.” Urnalda clacked her tongue. “Quick! Before it be gone.”

  Before she had finished her sentence, the arrows were already nocked. Both dwarves, brawny arms bulging, drew back their bows. This time, I felt sure, at least one of their arrows would find its mark. And this time I could do nothing to prevent it.

  An instant before they let fly, the doe leaped high into the smoke-streaked air. For a heartbeat she hung there, floating, the perfect target.

  “Shoot!” commanded Urnalda. “I said—”

  An immense bulk suddenly plowed into her from behind. With a terrified screech, she flew into the pair of dwarves, sending their arrows skittering across the ground. The huntsmen, just as surprised as Urnalda, collapsed under her weight. Apparently stunned, she lay on top of them, moaning. The recently shortened dwarf tried to free himsel
f and stand, but tripped over his loose leggings. He landed directly on Urnalda’s face, crushing one of her shell earrings.

  Simultaneously, a huge rack of antlers scooped me up and lifted me into the air. I toppled backward, falling across an enormous neck, bristling with fur. The stag! All at once we were bounding across the plain. It took all my strength just to hold on, my legs entwined with the antler points and my arms wrapped around the powerful neck. Coarse fur scratched my cheeks as the great body bounced beneath me. Soon the cries of the dwarves faded away and all I could hear was the pounding, pounding of hooves.

  I have no idea how long I rode this way, though it seemed half the night. The muscles of the stag’s neck felt as hard as stone. Pound, pound, pound. At least once I fell off, thudding into the ground. In a flash, the antlers scooped me up again and the brutal ride continued.

  Finally, dazed and bruised, I tumbled off again. This time, no rack of antlers retrieved me. Rolling onto my back, I felt the coolness of wet grass against my neck. My battered body gave way, at last, to exhaustion. Vaguely, I thought I heard voices, almost human but different somehow. Finally, my head pounding as incessantly as the hooves, I fell into heavy slumber.

  When I awoke, it was to the sound of a stream. Water bounced and splattered somewhere nearby. Finding myself facedown in a bed of grass, I turned over stiffly. My neck and back ached, especially between my shoulders. Bright light! The sun rode high above, warming my face. The air, while still mildly smoky, seemed lighter and clearer than last night.

  Last night! Had all that really happened? Despite the painful stiffness of my back, I sat up. Suddenly, I caught my breath. There, seated on a toppled tree trunk beside the bubbling stream, sat a young woman about my own age.

  For a long moment she and I sat in silence. She seemed to be looking past me, at the stream, perhaps out of shyness. Even so, I could tell that her immense brown eyes were watching me cautiously.